Serpent of Moses by Don Hoesel Page A

space prompted him to finish his call, although he did not look at his guest again until he had gathered the contents of the file, meticulously replaced them, and slipped the file into a desk drawer.
    “Can I help you?” he asked her, looking over his glasses and using a voice that let Esperanza know he would have rather done anything else.
    “I’m Dr. Esperanza Habilla,” she answered, determined to ignore his demeanor. “We spoke on the phone yesterday.”
    Sturdivant did not answer right away, but he did meet Esperanza’s eyes for the first time.
    “You’re Romero Habilla’s sister, aren’t you?” he asked after a time, and she couldn’t tell by the tone if confirming the relationship would help or hinder her efforts.
    “I am,” she admitted.
    The museum director pursed his lips and nodded.
    “I’ve purchased a few things from him,” he said. “His items are generally a bit higher priced than I believe is warranted, but I’ve found him to be fair.”
    “He’ll be happy to hear that,” Esperanza said, pleased to have found some common ground but also beginning to believe that the man only dipped into his emotional well when perusing a painting by a dead master or an artifact from a vanished civilization—a theory granted weight by the speed with which he moved on to other matters.
    “What can I do for you, Dr. Habilla?”
    “As I said, we spoke yesterday—”
    “You asked me about Jack Hawthorne.”
    “The last time I spoke with him, he said he was planning to pay you a visit.”
    “We had a meeting set for three days ago, and while I’m used to Dr. Hawthorne arriving in his own good time, he’s testing the limits of my patience.”
    “Believe me, I understand,” she said.
    “While I’ve allocated money for what he said he would be able to procure, I can’t hold on to it indefinitely. In fact, there’s an extraordinary display of Celtic weaponry I would love to have here in Apsley House and I’m considering redirecting the money meant for Dr. Hawthorne.”
    “What is he supposed to be bringing you?” Esperanza asked, but Sturdivant’s head was shaking before she finished the question.
    “I’m sorry. I’m afraid I can’t reveal that,” he said, although Esperanza doubted he was sorry at all. Still, she offered a smile meant to convey understanding. “To be perfectly frank, Dr. Habilla, the only reason I haven’t yet reallocated the money is because of Dr. Hawthorne’s reputation. But that reputation does not entitle him to operate as if Apsley House is his personal trading post.”
    “I’m sure that’s not how he looks at it,” she said, even as she suspected that was exactly how Jack viewed it. Esperanza saw Sturdivant’s eyebrows come together in thought.
    “Forgive me, Dr. Habilla, but I’m still unclear about the reason for this visit.”
    “It’s simple really. Jack is going to show up in London soon with an artifact that he wants to sell you, and I want to be here when he arrives at Apsley House to make the exchange.”
    If her explanation did nothing else, it served to change the way Sturdivant looked at her. Rather than an entirely dismissive expression, the new one also contained a hint of puzzlement and a dash of worry.
    “Why?”
    “Because I have something very important I want to say to him,” she explained, using the voice that would have made most any man willing to accept something purely nonsensical. However, as she had already ascertained, Milo Sturdivant was not most men.
    “And this something can’t be said over the phone?”
    “Sadly, no,” Esperanza said, feeling the first hints of irritation—annoyance that grew as Sturdivant did not follow the Venezuelan’s response with one of his own. Instead, he leaned back in his chair and regarded her as one would a puzzle. After several seconds, he leaned forward and placed his elbows on the desk, making a steeple of his fingers.
    “Just so I’m clear,” he said. “You flew here from