Sphinx by Robin Cook Read Free Book Online Page A

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