Death Mask by Michael Devaney Page B

headed down the hall insinuating for him to follow. Twenty paces later they were standing at the threshold of an impressive corner office.
    “Sir, a guest is here to see you.”
    “Thank you, Holly,” Mr. Gaines said. “See him in.”
    Holly smiled at Andrew, tilted her head sideways then gestured a classic “Vanna White” invitation into the office.
    Andrew returned her smile then winked to show his acknowledgement. He entered the room extending his right hand. “Mr. Gaines, it’s nice to meet you,” he said. “Thank you for fitting me into your schedule on such short notice.”
    Mr. Gaines rose from behind a massive mahogany desk and stuck both thumbs underneath a broad set of suspenders that straddled his shoulders. He gave Andrew a polite but suspicious nod then released one of his suspenders and met Andrew’s hand with his own. “Likewise I hope. Please have a seat.”
    “I won’t waste more of your time than is necessary. I’m here to offer you a proposal.”
    Mr. Gaines eyebrows perked upward.
    “A proposal,” he gruffed. “What type of proposal might that be?”
    “I’m a freelance dealer in unique items,” Andrew said. “Procuring historic, highly valued artifacts is how I make a living. Acting as a middle-man, I locate and secure the items then hand them over to an approved establishment for safe keeping.”
    “Sounds like interesting work. Go on.”
    “After reading the news about the recent troubling incident involving your museum’s highly publicized Death Mask, I thought you might be in the market to sell.”
    “Sell!” Victor, erupted. “Why on earth would I do that? I just jumped through one hundred and one government hoops to acquire it.”
    “Yes, sir, I know. But sometimes, as I’m sure you know, big-ticket purchases end up being more trouble than they’re worth, especially when there’s negative publicity attached. That’s where I can help.”
    “Mister…Game was it?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Mr. Game. Have you lost your mind?” Victor said, calmly latching both thumbs underneath his suspenders again. “The newsworthy attention stemming from this mask is anything but trouble. In fact, I’m banking on it being a gold mine. The publicity alone stands to more than double my revenues at the museum this coming year.”
    That was not the response Andrew expected.
    “Things couldn’t have worked out any better than if I’d scripted it myself,” Victor added, tugging out on his suspenders and puffing out his chest.
    “Come on, Victor. Everything has a price. Name yours. I just might surprise you.”
    Mr. Gaines gave him a hard glare then said, “Okay hotshot. What’s your offer?”
    Andrew didn’t hesitate. “One million dollars in your account by the end of business today.”
    Victor’s jaw slacked causing him to swallow hard. Then, out of instinct, he haggled back to see what would happen. “Two million,” he said, calmly.
    “Done,” Andrew said.
    “Just like that?” Victor asked.
    “Just like that.”
    Victor furrowed his brow and thought a minute. He loved the museum and was fond of the things he collected, but he was a businessman first. If this guy was willing to pay two million dollars for the Death Mask today then surely, he reasoned, someone else might be willing to pay three…or more.
    “Mr. Game, I’m sorry but it’s not for sale.”
    “No last offers?” Andrew prodded.
    “No.”
    “I’m sorry to hear that, Victor, but I understand. I’ll tell you what. Here’s my card. Give it a few days to let it brew then call me at this number. I’ll answer anytime of day or night.”
    “Thank you. I may do that,” Victor said, taking the business card. “But I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you.”
    Andrew was nearly to the door when he stopped and abruptly turned around.
    “One more thing,” he said. “People like you and I, Mr. Gaines, have an inherent duty to protect priceless pieces of art and history at any cost, no matter what they