“You are so kind,” said Erica, taking the book. “I’ll be very careful with it. Thank you.”
“It pleases me to make your visit more enjoyable,” said Abdul, walking back to the curtain, where he hesitated again. “If you have difficulty getting the book to me when you leave Egypt, return it to the man whose name and address are written in the flyleaf. I travel a lot and might not be in Cairo at the time.” He smiled and walked through to the store. The heavy drapes snapped back into place.
Erica flipped through the guidebook, noting the plethora of drawings and fold-out maps. The description of the Temple of Karnak, given Baedeker’s highest rating of four stars, was almost forty pages. It looked superb. The next chapter commenced with a series of copper engravings of Queen Hatshepsut’s temple, followed by a long description, which Erica was particularly interested in reading. She slipped the snapshot of Abdul into the book, both to mark the place and to preserve the photograph, and put both into her tote bag.
Alone in the room, she let her attention wander back to the fabulous statue of Seti I. She had all she could do to keep herself from reaching over and lifting the veil to look at the curious row of hieroglyphics. She wondered if it would really be a violation of trust if she looked at the statue. Reluctantly she decided it would be, and she was about to take out the guidebook when she heard a definite change in the muffled conversation coming from the outer part of the shop. The voices weren’t louder, but they sounded angry. At first she thought they were merely bargaining. Then the sound of shattering plate glass cut through the silence of the dimly lit room, followed by a scream that was quickly choked off. Erica felt a sensation of pure panic spread up from her chest and pound in her temples. A single voice recommenced, lower, more threatening.
As silently as possible, Erica moved over to the curtain, and imitating Abdul a few minutes earlier, spread the edges to look into the outer part of the shop. The first thing she saw was the back of an Arab dressed in a ragged, dirty galabia, holding aside the beaded strings at the entranceway, apparently watching for intruders. Then, looking a little to the left, Erica stifled a scream. Abdul was pulled backward over the broken glass-topped counter by another Arab, also dressed in a torn, dirty galabia. In front of Abdul stood a third Arab, dressed in a clean white-and-brown-striped robe and a white turban, who was brandishing a gleaming scimitar. The light from the single overhead bulb reflected its razor-sharp edge as it was raised in front of Abdul’s terrified face.
Before Erica could allow the curtain to hide the grisly scene, Abdul’s head was yanked back and the scimitar was viciously drawn across the base of his neck, slicing through the soft tissues to the spine. A gasping sound escaped from the severed windpipe before the spurting bright red blood drenched the area.
Erica’s legs buckled and she dropped to her knees, the heavy drapes masking the sound of her fall. Terrified, she scanned the room for some concealment. The cabinets? There was no time to try to get inside. Pulling herself to her feet, she pressed into the far corner between the last cabinet and the wall. It was hardly a hiding place. At best it hid her own view, like a child covering his eyes in the dark. But the beak-nosed face of the man who had held Abdul down seemed burned in her mind. She kept picturing his cruel black eyes and his snarling mouth under his mustache, revealing sharp, gold-tipped teeth.
There was more commotion from the outer part of the shop, some sounds like the movement of furniture, followed by a terrifying silence. Time passed agonizingly slowly. Then Erica heard voices coming toward her. The men were entering the back room. She almost stopped breathing, her skin crawling with fear. The Arabic conversation was right behind her. She could feel the presence of the people, could hear them moving about. There were footsteps, a thud. Someone cursed in Arabic. Then the footsteps moved away and Erica heard the familiar crackling noises of the beads in the entranceway.
Erica let out her breath but stayed pressed into the corner as if she were poised on a ledge on a thousand-foot precipice. Time passed, but she had no idea if she had waited five minutes or fifteen. Silently she counted to fifty. Still no sounds. Slowly she turned her head and backed slightly away from the corner. The room was empty, her tote bag undisturbed on the carpet, her cup of tea waiting. But the magnificent statue of Seti I was gone!
The sound of beads hitting against each other in the entranceway sent a new chill plunging down Erica’s spine. As she turned back toward the corner in a panic, her foot hit her unfinished tea. The glass fell over and tumbled free from its metal frame. The carpet absorbed the fluid and the sound until the glass rolled against the table with a dull thud. Erica pressed herself against the corner once again. She heard the heavy curtain yanked aside. Even though her eyes were closed, the could see the effect of natural light in the room. Then the light disappeared. She was alone with whoever was in the room. There were several muted noises and the sound of footsteps coming closer. She held her breath again.
Suddenly a hand with an iron grip grabbed her left arm and yanked her from the corner, pulling her stumbling into the center of the room.
The sound of the alarm clock shattered Richard Harvey’s dream, forcing him to acknowledge the arrival of another day. He had tossed and turned fitfully the whole night. The last time he remembered looking at the clock it was almost five A M He had twenty-seven scheduled patients that day at the office, and he felt like he’d been run over.
“Christ,” he said angrily as he brought his fist down on the top of the alarm clock. The force of the blow not only compressed the snooze button but also popped out the plastic cover over the dial. It had happened before, and the cover could be easily replaced into its housing, but still it tended to symbolize for Richard his life of late. Things were out of control, and he was not used to that.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up, looking at the clock. Rather than deal with the alarm again, he bent over and yanked out the plug. The almost imperceptible grinding noise of the electric clock stopped. So did the sweep of the second hand. Next to the clock was a photo of Erica on skis. Instead of smiling, she was gazing into the camera with her full lower lip thrust out in that pouting expression that alternately enraged Richard and filled him with desire. He reached over and turned the picture around, breaking the spell. How could any girl as beautiful as Erica be in love with a civilization that had been dead more than three thousand years? Still, he missed her terribly, and she’d only been gone for two nights. How was he going to deal with four weeks?
Richard got up and padded to the toilet stark naked. At age thirty-four he was in very good shape. He’d always been athletic, even through medical school, and now that he’d been in private practice for three years, he still played tennis and racket ball regularly. His six-foot frame was lean and well-muscled. As Erica had told him, even his ass had definition.
From the bathroom he ventured into the kitchen, putting on water to boil and pouring a glass of juice. In the living room he opened the shutters that gave out onto Louisburg Square. The mid-October sunlight filtered down through the golden leaves of the elms, taking the chill off the air. Richard smiled wearily, deepening the lines at the corners of his eyes and accentuating his dimples. He was a pleasantly handsome man with a square, somewhat impish face under thick honey-colored hair. His blue eyes, deeply set, had a frequent twinkle.
“ Egypt. Christ, it’s like going to the moon,” Richard said forlornly to the beautiful morning. “Why the hell did she have to go to Egypt?”
He showered, shaved, dressed, and breakfasted in a long-established, efficient pattern. The only interruption of the usual routine was his socks. He didn’t have any clean socks, so he was forced to find some in the hamper. It was going to be a terrible day. Meanwhile, he could think of nothing but Erica. Finally, in desperation, he put a call through to Erica’s mother in Toledo, with whom he got along splendidly. It was eight thirty and he knew he’d catch her before she left for work.