“That’s some statue, isn’t it?” said Rice, as if he were showing Erica pictures of his firstborn child. “It makes all that Tut stuff look like a child’s toys.”

Jeffrey Rice was right. Looking at the photos, Erica admitted the statue was stunning. But she also noticed something else. As far as she could recall, the statue was identical with the one she’d seen. Then she hesitated. Looking at Rice’s statue, she saw that the right hand was holding the jewel-encrusted mace. She remembered that Abdul’s statue held the mace in its left hand. The statues were not the same, they were mirror images! Erica shuffled through the rest of the photographs. There were pictures of the statue from every angle, very good photos, obviously professional. Finally, toward the bottom of the stack, were the close-ups. Erica felt her pulse quicken when she saw the hieroglyphics. It was too dark to see the symbols clearly, but by tilting the photo she was able to see the two pharaonic cartouches. There were the names, Seti I and Tutankhamen. Amazing.

“Miss Baron,” said Jeffrey Rice, “it would be our pleasure to have you join us for dinner.” Priscilla Rice smiled warmly as her husband extended the invitation.

“Thank you,” said Erica, replacing the photos in the envelope. “Unfortunately, I already have plans. Perhaps some other evening, if you are staying in Egypt.”

“Of course,” said Jeffrey Rice. “Or you and your guests could join us tonight.”

Erica thought for a moment, then declined. Jeffrey Rice and Yvon de Margeau would mix like oil and water. Erica was about to excuse herself when she thought of something else. “Mr. Rice, how did you buy your Seti I statue?” Her voice was hesitant, since she didn’t know the propriety of the question.

“With money, my dear!” Jeffrey Rice laughed, slapping the table with an open hand. He obviously thought his joke was hilarious. Erica smiled weakly and waited, hoping there would be more.

“I heard about it from an art-dealer friend in New York. He called me up and said that there was an amazing piece of Egyptian sculpture that was going to be auctioned behind closed doors.”

“Closed doors?”

“Yeah, no publicity. Kinda hush-hush. Happens all the time.”

“Was it here in Egypt?” asked Erica.

“Nope, Zurich.”

“Switzerland,” said Erica incredulously. “Why Switzerland?”

Jeffrey Rice shrugged. “At that kind of auction you don’t ask questions. There’s a certain etiquette.”

“Do you know how it got to Zurich?” asked Erica.

“No,” said Jeffrey Rice. “As I said, you don’t ask questions. It was arranged by one of the big banks there, and they tend to be very closemouthed. All they want is the money.” Smiling, he got up and offered to escort Erica back to the elevator. He obviously had no intention of saying more.

Erica entered her room with her head reeling. Jeffrey Rice’s statements were as much to blame as the two drinks. While he had waited with her for the elevator, he had casually mentioned that the statue was not the first Egyptian antiquity he’d purchased in Zurich. He’d gotten several gold statues and a wonderful pectoral necklace, all possibly dating from the time of Seti I.

Putting the envelope with the photos down on the bureau, Erica thought about her earlier conception of the black market: somebody would find a small artifact in the sand and would sell it to someone who wanted it. Now she was forced to admit that the final transacting took place in the paneled conference rooms of international banks. It was incredible.

Erica removed her blouse, looked at the bloodstain, and impulsively threw it away. Her pants followed the blouse to the same wastebasket. Removing her bra, she noticed the blood had even soaked through to the back strap. But she could not cavalierly discard her bra. Bras were difficult for Erica to buy, and there were only a few brands that were comfortable. Before doing something rash, she opened the top drawer of the bureau to count how many she’d brought along. But instead of counting, she found herself just looking at her underclothes. Lingerie was an extravagance that Erica had allowed herself even during her financially lean years as a fulltime student. She enjoyed the reassuring feminine feel of expensive underwear. Consequently she was careful with them, and when she had unpacked, she had taken the time to lay things out neatly. But now the drawer looked different. Someone had been in her belongings!

Erica stood up and looked around the room. The bed was made, so obviously housekeeping had been in, but would they go into her clothes? It was possible. Quickly she checked the middle drawer, pulling out her Levi’s. In the side pocket were her diamond earrings, the last gift she’d received from her father. In the back pocket was her return airline ticket and the bulk of her traveler’s checks. After finding everything in its place, she heaved a sigh of relief and returned the jeans.

Looking back into the top drawer, she wondered if she could have disturbed her own belongings that morning. Walking into the bathroom, she picked up her plastic makeup bag and examined its contents. Obviously she did not organize her makeup, yet she used the various articles in an orderly fashion, dropping each into the bag after using it. Her moisturizer should have been close to the bottom; instead it was on the top. Also on the top were her birth-control pills, which she always took in the evening. Erica looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes reflected a feeling of violation, similar to that generated by the boy who had felt her up the day before. Someone had had his hands in her things. Erica wondered if she should report the incident to the hotel management. But what would she say, since nothing was taken?

Returning to the foyer, Erica nervously locked her door with the dead bolt. Then she walked over and looked out through the sliding glass door, where the fiery Egyptian sun was reaching for the western horizon. The sphinx looked like a hungry lion ready to pounce. The pyramids thrust their massive shapes against a bloodred sky. Erica wished she felt happier to be within their shadow.

Dinner with Yvon turned out to be a soothingly romantic interlude. Erica surprised herself with her resilience; despite the harrowing day and despite the guilty feeling she had had since her call to Richard, she was able to enjoy the evening. Yvon had picked her up at her hotel while the spot where the sun had set still glowed like a dying ember. They had driven south along the Nile out of the dusty heat of Cairo toward the town of Maadi. As the stars had emerged in the darkening sky, Erica’s tension had evaporated into the cool evening air.

The restaurant was called the Sea Horse, and it was situated directly on the Nile’s eastern bank. Taking advantage of the perfect Egyptian nighttime climate, the dining room was open on all four sides. Across the river and above a line of palms were the illuminated pyramids of Giza.

They dined on fresh fish and giant prawns from the Red Sea, grilled on an open fire and washed down with a chilled white wine called Gianaclis. Yvon thought it was terrible and cut it with mineral water, but Erica liked its slightly sweet, fruity taste.

She watched him drink, admiring his closely fitted dark blue silk shirt. Reminding her of her silk tops, which she prized and wore on special occasions, it should have seemed feminine, but it didn’t. In fact the silvery sheen seemed to emphasize his masculinity.

Erica herself had taken a long time to get ready, and the effort had paid off. Her freshly washed hair was loosely pulled back on the sides and held with tortoise-shell combs. She had chosen to wear a one-piece chocolate-brown jersey with a scooped neck, cap sleeves, and elastic waist. Beneath she had on hose for the first time since she had gotten off the plane. She knew that she looked as good as she could, and the whole effect pleased her as the soft Nile breeze caressed the nape of her neck.