Day 7

The sound of the recorded voice coming from the small mosque built against the Temple of Luxor awoke Erica from a troubled dream. She had been running from some unseen but terrifying creature through a medium that progressively resisted her movement. When she awoke she was tangled in the bedcovers and realized she must have been tossing and turning.

She pulled herself up from the bed and opened the windows to the morning freshness. With the crisp air on her face, her nightmare vanished. She took a quick sponge bath standing in the large tub. For some reason there was no hot water, and she was actually shivering when she was through.

After breakfast Erica left the hotel to find the Curio Antique Shop. She had her tote bag with her flashlight, Polaroid camera, and guidebooks. She was comfortably dressed in new cotton slacks she’d purchased in Cairo to replace those that she’d ripped in the serapeum.

She strolled down Shari Lukanda and noted the names of the shops she’d already visited. Curio Antique Shop was not among them. One of the proprietors she recognized told her that the Curio Antique Shop was on Shari el Muntazah near the Hotel Savoy. Erica found the area and the shop very easily. Next to the Curio Shop was a store that was crudely boarded up. Although she could not read its full name, she saw the word “Hamdi” and knew what she was looking at.

Clutching her bag tightly, she entered the Curio Shop. There was a good selection of antiquities, although on closer examination she could tell they were mostly fakes. A French couple was already in the shop and bargaining fiercely for a small bronze figure.

The most interesting piece Erica saw was a black mummiform ushabti figure with a delicately painted face. Its plinth was gone, so the statue was leaning against the corner of the shelf. As soon as the French couple departed without buying the bronze, the proprietor approached Erica. He was a distinguished-looking Arab with silver-grey hair and a neat mustache.

“I am Lahib Zayed. May I help you?” he said, switching from French to English. Erica wondered what made him guess her nationality.

“Yes,” said Erica. “I’d like to look at that black Osiriform figure.”

“Ah, yes. One of my best pieces. From the tombs of the nobles.” He lifted the figure ever so gently with the tips of his fingers.

While his back was turned, Erica licked the tip of her finger. When he handed her the statue she was ready.

“Be very careful. It is a delicate piece,” said Zayed.

Erica nodded and wiped her finger back and forth. The tip of her finger was clean. The pigment was stable. She looked more closely at the carving and the manner in which the eyes were painted. That was the critical area. She was satisfied the statue was an antique.

“New Kingdom,” said Zayed holding the statue away from Erica so she could appreciate it at a distance. “I get something like this only once or twice a year.”

“How much?”

“Fifty pounds. Normally I’d ask more, but you are so beautiful.”

Erica smiled. “I’ll give you forty,” she said, knowing full well that he did not expect to get his initial price. She also knew it was a little more than she should be spending, but she thought it was important to prove that she was serious. Besides, she liked the statue. Even if it later proved to be a very clever fake, it was still decorative. They concluded the deal at forty-one pounds.

“Actually, I’m here representing a large group,” said Erica, “and I’m interested in something very special. Do you have anything?”

“I might have a few things you’d like. Perhaps I could show you in a more suitable place. Would you care for some mint tea?”

Erica felt a surge of anxiety as she stepped into the back room of the Curio Antique Shop. She had to suppress the image of Abdul Hamdi’s throat being slit. Fortunately the Curio Antique Shop was constructed differently, opening onto a courtyard with bright sunlight. It did not have the confining feeling of Antica Abdul.

Zayed called his son, a dark-haired, lanky facsimile of his father, and told him to order some mint tea for their guest.

Settling back in his chair, Zayed asked Erica the usual questions: if she liked Luxor, if she’d been to Karnak, what did she think of the Valley of the Kings? He told her how much he loved Americans. He said they were so friendly.

Erica added to herself, “… and so gullible.”

The tea came, and Zayed produced some interesting pieces, including several small bronze figurines, a battered but recognizable head of Amenhotep III, and a series of wooden statues. The most beautiful statue was a young woman with hieroglyphics down the front of her skirt and a tranquil face that defied time. She was priced at four hundred pounds. After carefully examining the artifact, Erica was quite sure it was authentic.

“I’m interested in the wooden statue, and possibly the stone head,” said Erica in a businesslike tone.

Zayed rubbed his palms together with great excitement.

“I’ll be checking with the people I represent,” said Erica. “But I know there is something they would want me to buy immediately if I were to see it.”

“What is that?” asked Zayed.

“There was a life-size statue of Seti I bought a year ago by a man in Houston. My clients have heard that a similar statue has been found.”

“I have nothing like that,” said Zayed evenly.

“Well, if you happen to hear about such a piece, I’ll be staying at the Winter Palace Hotel.” Erica wrote her name on a small piece of paper and gave it to him.

“And what about these pieces?”

“As I said, I’ll contact my clients. I do like the wooden statue, but I must check.” Erica picked up her purchase, which had been wrapped in Arabic newspaper, and walked back to the front part of the shop. She felt confident she had played her role very well. As she left, she noticed Zayed’s son bargaining with a man. It was the Arab who had been following her. Without breaking her stride or looking in his direction, Erica left the shop, but a shiver went up her spine.

As soon as his son finished with his customer, Lahib Zayed closed the front door to the shop and bolted it. “Come into the back,” he commanded his son. “That was the woman Stephanos Markoulis warned us about when he was here the other day,” he said, once they were in the security of the back room. He had even closed the old wooden door to the courtyard. “I want you to go to the central post office and call Markoulis and tell him that the American woman came into the shop and specifically asked about the Seti statue. I’ll go to Muhammad and tell him to warn the others.”

“What is going to happen to the woman?” asked Fathi.

“I think that’s rather obvious. It reminds me of that young man from Yale about two years ago.”

“Will they do the same to the woman?”

“Undoubtedly,” said his father.

Erica was appalled by the chaos in the Luxor administration building. Some of the people had been waiting so long that they were sleeping on the floor. In the corner of one hall she saw a whole family camped out as if they’d been there for days. Behind the counters the civil servants ignored the crowds and casually talked among themselves. Every desk was a heap of completed forms awaiting some impossible signature. It was awful.

By the time Erica found someone who spoke English, she learned that Luxor was not even an administration center. The Muhāfazah for the area was located in Aswan, and all the census data were stored there. Erica told the woman that she wanted to trace a man who lived on the West Bank fifty years ago. The woman looked at Erica as if she were crazy and told her it was impossible, though she might check with the police. There was always the possibility the person she sought could have had trouble with the authorities.