Serpent of Moses - By Don Hoesel Page 0,8

it was not intended, he struck the wall, the sound echoing in the chamber. It took a second strike before the hammer went through the thin stone and into the hollow beneath it. A feeling of exultation coursed through him, but he pushed that aside and began to pull away the shattered pieces, revealing a hole less than eight inches across. It took less than a minute to remove the shards, and once he’d cleared the hole he put his hand in, all the while wondering if the men behind him would allow him to do the honors or if they would pull him away now that his usefulness was expended. When no hands closed on him, he decided to reach into the opening.

His hand touched something coarse yet malleable. It took him a moment to recognize it as fabric, but then he felt the solid thing it encased. He tightened his grip and tugged, expecting some resistance but finding none. The thing slid out as if coated in oil—long and slender, wrapped in timeworn linen.

In that moment Jack was alone in the cavern.

He held the artifact up, his eyes bright with the pure joy that came from such a discovery. It was the right size, yet the only way to be sure was to remove the wrappings. That, however, was an honor he would not be allowed.

As he turned away from the wall he felt the hands on him, an arm wrapping around his chest. The Englishman stepped forward and took the artifact from Jack’s hands, an apologetic smile his only payment. An instant later the rock wall from which Jack had just pulled the relic came rushing forward, and then all was blackness.

4

When Esperanza entered the store, the violence with which she thrust open the door displayed the anger she’d carried with her from her office and through the streets of Caracas. Even as she let the door swing shut behind her, she reminded herself that none of this was Romero’s fault.

Romero, on the other side of the store and with his back to her, did not turn away from his customer to see who had entered. From Esperanza’s position, she could just make out the Campeche stele artifact Romero was showing the man, and she guessed the price of the piece hovered in the level most people would call obscene. Romero, though, seldom dealt with anyone unprepared to drop that sort of money. And despite the anger that had brought Esperanza there, she kept close to the door until he completed the transaction.

Her brother—the proprietor of the high-end antiquities shop situated off Bolivar Avenue in the Caracas business district—did just that, with Esperanza picking up only bits and pieces of the conversation but getting the impression the customer was thrilled with the stele and would likely have paid more than what Romero had asked for it. Not long after the handshake and necessary delivery arrangements, the well-dressed gray-haired man was gone, aiming a conspirator’s smile at Esperanza as he left. The smile was mirrored by Romero as he turned to watch the man exit through the metal door that would take him down to street level. Only when the door swung shut behind him did Romero turn his attention to his sister, giving her a once-over before crossing the room.

“It’s none of my business,” he told her.

“He’s late,” Esperanza said.

“He’s always late, Espy.”

“Which is exactly my point,” she said, her voice rising. She saw her brother frown and offered him an apologetic shrug, to which he responded with a smile.

“When you are in one of these moods I’m used to my customers suddenly remembering other places they need to be, so this is an improvement.”

For some reason, she found Romero’s remark irritating, and with a flash of her eyes she ignored it and walked over to a display of Saxon pottery, which like everything else in his store was arranged with taste and simplicity, the items charged with selling themselves.

“When was he expected back?” Romero asked.

“Two days ago.” Espy’s small hand reached for a dish that she knew her brother would only sell with the complete set.

“For Jack, getting back anywhere within three days of when he told you counts as being on time.”

Espy looked up from studying the pottery and fixed her brother with a look she suspected he knew well. It was a look that would have caused others to walk gingerly around the rest of the conversation. But Romero simply sighed. He looked as