Evangelos Papparis moved around the marble column very slowly, keeping Erica and Richard in view. His sixth sense warned him to expect trouble. He was in the northern corner of the courtyard, deep within the shade of the arcade. Erica and Richard were now heading diagonally away from him. Evangelos was not sure that Erica was the woman he was awaiting, mostly because she was accompanied, but the description seemed to fit. So when the couple reached the entrance arch to the mihrab, he stepped back to the center of the arcade and waved his arm in a slow circular fashion, then held up two fingers. Stephanos Markoulis, standing deep in the vast columned prayer room about two hundred feet away, waved back. From their previous plans Stephanos now knew that Erica had come with another person. With this information he stepped around the column in front of him, then leaned against it, waiting. To his left was a group of Islamic students grouped around their teacher, who was reading from the Koran in a singsong.
Evangelos Papparis was about to walk down to the main entrance when he caught a glimpse of Khalifa. He pulled back into the shadows, struggling to place the profile. When he looked again, the figure was already gone, and Richard and Erica had entered the prayer area. Then Evangelos remembered. The man with the jacket suspiciously draped over his arm was Khalifa Khalil, the assassin.
Evangelos returned to the center of the arcade, but he could not see Stephanos. He was confused. Turning, he decided to see if Khalil was still in the building.
Erica had read about the Al Azhar mosque in the Baedeker, and she knew that they were looking at the original mihrab, or prayer niche. It was intricately constructed of minute pieces of marble and alabaster forming complicated geometric patterns. “This alcove faces toward Mecca,” whispered Erica.
“This place is awesome,” said Richard quietly. In the dim light, as far as he could see to the left or right was a forest of marble columns. His eyes wandered to the floor around the prayer niche, noticing it was covered with overlapping Oriental carpets.
“What is it that I smell,” he asked, sniffing.
“Incense,” said Erica. “Listen!”
There was a constant sound of muted voices, and from where they were standing they could see numerous groups of students sitting at the feet of their teachers. “The mosque is not a university any longer,” whispered Erica, “but it is still used for koranic studies.”
“I like the way he studies,” said Richard, pointing toward a sleeping figure curled up on an Oriental rug.
Erica turned and looked back through the series of arches to the sunlit courtyard. She wanted to leave. The mosque had a sinister, sepulchral atmosphere, and she decided it was an inappropriate spot to meet someone. “Come on, Richard.” She took his hand, but Richard, interested in going deeper into the pillared hall, pulled back.
“Let’s check out that tomb of Sultan Rahman you read about,” he said, halting Erica’s progress toward the sunlight.
Erica looked around at Richard. “I’d prefer…” She didn’t finish. Over Richard’s shoulder she saw a man walking toward them from between the columns. She knew it was Stephanos Markoulis.
Noticing her expression and following her line of vision, Richard turned toward the approaching figure. He could feel the tension in her hand. Knowing she wanted to meet with the man, he wondered why she was agitated.
“Erica Baron,” said Stephanos with a broad smile. “I’d recognize you in a crowd of a thousand. You are far more beautiful than Yvon suggested.” Stephanos did not try to conceal his appreciation.
“Mr. Markoulis?” questioned Erica, although there was no doubt in her mind. His unctuous manner and greasy appearance coincided with her expectations. What she didn’t expect was the large gold Christian cross around his neck. Within the mosque its sheen seemed provocative of violence.
“Stephanos Christos Markoulis,” said the Greek proudly.
“This is Richard Harvey,” said Erica, pulling Richard forward.
Stephanos glanced at Richard, then ignored him. “I would like to speak to you alone, Erica.” He extended his hand.
Ignoring Stephanos’ gesture, Erica grasped Richard’s hand more firmly. “I’d prefer Richard to stay.”
“As you wish.”
“This is a rather melodramatic spot,” said Erica.
Stephanos laughed, and the sound echoed between the columns. “Indeed, but remember, it was your idea not to meet at the Hilton.”
“I think we’d better make this short,” said Richard. He had no idea what was going on, but he did not like to see Erica upset.
Stephanos’ smile faded. He was not used to being opposed.
“What do you want to speak to me about?” said Erica.
“Abdul Hamdi,” said Stephanos matter-of-factly. “Remember him?”
Erica wanted to give as little information as possible. “Yes,” she said.
“Well, tell me what you know about him. Did he tell you anything out of the ordinary? Did he give you any letters or papers?”
“Why?” said Erica defiantly. “Why should I tell you what I know?”
“Perhaps we can help each other,” said Stephanos. “Are you interested in antiquities?”
“Yes,” said Erica.
“Well, then, I can help you. What are you interested in?”
“A large life-size Seti I statue,” said Erica, leaning forward to gauge her words’ effect on Stephanos.
If he were surprised, he did not show it. “You’re speaking about very serious business,” he said finally. “Have you any idea of the sums involved?”
“Yes,” said Erica. Actually, she had no idea. It was hard to even guess.
“Did Hamdi talk to you about such a statue?” asked Stephanos. His voice had a new seriousness.
“He did,” said Erica. The fact that she knew so little made her feel particularly vulnerable.
“Did Hamdi say from whom he’d obtained the statue or where it was going?” Stephanos’ face was deadly serious, and Erica shivered a little despite the heat. She tried to decide what Stephanos hoped to learn from her. It had to be where the statue was going before the murder. It must have been on its way to Athens! Without looking up, Erica spoke softly. “He didn’t tell me who sold him the statue…” She deliberately left the second part of Stephanos’ question unanswered. She knew she was gambling, but if it worked, then Stephanos would think she had been told some secrets. Then perhaps she could get something out of him.
But the conversation was cut short. Suddenly a massive figure materialized from the shadows behind Stephanos. Erica saw a huge bald head with a gaping knife wound that ran from the crown down over the bridge of the nose onto the right cheek. The wound looked like it had been made with a razor; despite its depth, it was barely bleeding. The man’s hand reached for Stephanos, and Erica gasped, digging her nails into Richard’s hand.
With surprising agility Stephanos reacted to Erica’s warning. He spun, falling to the right, his right leg cocked for what would have been a karate kick. At the last moment he checked himself, recognizing Evangelos.
“What happened?” asked Stephanos with alarm, regaining his feet.
“Khalifa,” rasped Evangelos. “Khalifa is in the mosque.”
Stephanos pushed the weakened Evangelos against a column for support and rapidly looked around. From beneath his left arm he extracted a tiny but lethal-looking Beretta automatic and snapped off the safety.
At the sight of the gun, Erica and Richard shrank against each other in total disbelief. Before they could respond, a bloodcurdling scream reverberated through the vast prayer hall. Because of the echoes, it was difficult to determine where it had come from. As it trailed off, the koranic murmuring stopped. There was a dreadful silence like the calm before a holocaust. No one moved. From where Erica and Richard were huddled they could see several groups of students with their teachers. They too reflected confusion and mounting fear. What was happening?