The Minoan Cipher (A Matinicus “Matt” Hawkins Adventure Book 2)

by Paul Kemprecos

  “I would be the last person to argue with Cervantes,” the sergeant said. “To be perfectly honest, some of what I have heard is very hard to believe.” He consulted his notepad. “You told me you wished to examine an old ship on the bottom of the sea. Senora Kalchis and Senor Hawkins go down into the sea in a submarine. You find the ship. You hear noises. Then a boat almost…falls on you.”

  “My boat,” the captain reminded him. “The Sancho Panza, a name from the great Cervantes.”

  The sergeant sighed. “Yes, Cervantes. Tell me again why your boat sinks, young man.”

  Garcia had hoped to take advantage of Miguel’s youthful lack of guile. Miguel glanced at his father, who nodded, then said, “The boat explodes. First the pilot house, then the hull.”

  “Was the boat carrying any explosives?”

  Kalliste broke in. “This was an archaeological project. We had a permit from your government to look at a ship. Why would we carry explosives?” she spoke with slightly veiled contempt.

  “To blow up the ship. Maybe you’re looking for gold?”

  Kalliste smiled seductively. The sergeant took her reaction as a gesture of personal interest.

  He didn’t know Kalliste well enough to realize that she was actually looking for an unflattering physical attribute she could use as a cudgel to distribute a whack to his ego.

  Hawkins cut in. “No explosives on board. I think the boat was hit by missiles.”

  “But you heard no missile launch?”

  “That means nothing. They could have come from a distance. Or their rocket motors might have been muffled.”

  Garcia saw the opening and dove in. “And you are an expert in explosives?”

  “Yes. I was with the U.S. Navy SEALs in Afghanistan.”

  “Huh. Well. Let’s forget the explosives for now. There was an observer from the Spanish government on board. Senor Rodriguez.”

  “That’s correct,” Hawkins said.

  The sergeant opened a manila folder and placed a photograph face up on the table. Unlike the pig-faced Rodriguez, the man in the picture had a lean jaw and a beard. Judging from his glassy stare and fish belly pallor, he was very dead.

  “Do any of you recognize this person?” Hearing no answer in the affirmative, he said, “This is Senor Rodriguez, the government observer. He is an accountant, the brother-in-law of a high government official who recommended him for the job.”

  “That man was never on the boat,” Kalliste said.

  Garcia’s thick lips widened in a triumphant grin. “No surprise,” he said, tapping the photo with his forefinger. “Because this man is dead. His body was found in the harbor two days ago. Several relatives have come forward and identified him.”

  “If what you say is true,” Hawkins said. “The guy on our boat was an imposter. What was the cause of death for the man in the photo?”

  “Still being investigated.”

  “Are you charging us with his murder?” Kalliste asked.

  “I’m not charging you with anything. I—”

  Kalliste’s dueling finger rose up once again. “In that case, I suggest that we end this discussion. Whether you believe us or not, we have all gone through a harrowing experience. This is all very fascinating, but if I don’t get rest soon I will fall asleep.”

  Garcia liked this woman. She was not only attractive, but spirited as well.

  “I understand completely,” he soothed. “We will talk later. I’m sorry to have put you through this discomfort. Particularly you, senora.”

  Kalliste fluttered her eyelashes. “You are only doing your job. It’s a shame we are not in a more informal setting. You must have many colorful policeman stories to tell about Cadiz.”

  “A policeman goes to many hidden places. I would love to tell you about them.” He closed his notebook. “We’ll continue this discussion after you have had some rest. In the meantime, I must insist that you not leave the country, and that you make yourself available for further questioning.”

  Hawkins burst into laughter after Garcia left the room. He mimicked Kalliste’s eye flutters, and said, “You most have many poleezman storees to tell about Cadeez.”

  “A policeman goes to many hidden places,” she responded in a basso voice. A look of disgust came to her face. “The dirty old cop was trying to offer me a proposal.”

  “A proposal is for marriage. He was making a proposition, which is something else.”

  “I’ll bet it is,” Kalliste said. “I need some coffee.”

  Hawkins turned to the captain and his son. “Care to join us?”

  “Thank you, no, senor. My wife will be worrying about us.”

  “I understand. Again, please know how sorry I am for the loss of your boat, Captain.”

  Santiago shrugged. “The Sancho Panza was old. I would have retired her soon anyhow. I have good insurance. Please call me again if you have need of my services.”

  Kalliste gave the Santiago men each a hug and a double-cheek kiss.

  She and Hawkins were heading through the lobby to the cafeteria when someone called Kalliste’s name. A young woman who’d been standing at the reception desk was walking briskly in their direction. She wore a fashionably snug black leather jacket and a short russet colored leather skirt that clung tightly to her slim body. She was a statuesque woman and the black knee-high boots with heels made her even taller. Her hair, tied in a French twist, was the reddish blonde color that might be found in a Titian painting.

  “Lily, what are you doing here?” Kalliste said in astonishment.

  The woman gave Kalliste a bear hug. “Have you forgotten so soon? I’m your producer.”

  “I’m sorry, Lily. I never expected to see you here in Cadiz. The last time we talked you were in New York.”

  “After that I flew to Paris where I’ve been doing a story on werewolves. Cadiz was only a short hop so I thought I’d fly in and surprise you.”

  Hawkins couldn’t resist. “Excuse me. Did you say werewolves?”

  Lily turned and gave Hawkins a warm smile. “That’s right. In the sewers. Yes, I know. Crazy stuff, but the viewers can’t get enough of it.” She extended her hand. “My name is Lily Porter. I work for the television channel Hidden History. We’ve been backing Kalliste’s shipwreck project.”

  They shook hands. “Matt Hawkins. I came over from Woods Hole to help her with the technical aspects of the survey.”

  “Mr. Hawkins. I’m so pleased to meet you. Kalliste said you were the reason the Spanish government came through with the permit.” She glanced around the lobby and lowered her voice. “Well, Kalliste. Is it or isn’t it?”

  “It is a Minoan ship, most definitely in my opinion.”

  “Wonderful! I’ll go to the channel’s money guys and request full funding as soon as I have the evidence in hand.”

  “You might want to wait, Ms. Porter,” Hawkins said. “Maybe we can talk about it over a cup of coffee.”

  “Good idea, Matt. I’ll buy.”

  The hour fell between breakfast and lunch which meant the cafeteria was practically empty. They sat at a table and, over coffee and pastry, Kalliste told Lily about the attack, the loss of the submersible and their close brush with death.

  “That’s an incredible story,” Lily said. “I am so grateful that you’re all right, Kalliste. You too, Mr. Hawkins. Wow! This is even bigger than we thought. It’s every bit as dramatic as a James Bond movie. The money guys will be falling over themselves to fund production.”

  “I appreciate all you’ve done for me, Lily, but I’d prefer to wait until we know what we’re dealing with.” Kalliste glanced at Hawkins, who backed her up.

  “Putting a production crew out there now will be dangerous,” he said.

  “You’re right,” Lily said with a sigh of disappointment. “I’d never forgive myself if someone was hurt.” She seemed to brighten. “Why don’t I start the paperwork shuffling along. I’ll wrap up the werewolves piece and get back to you within a day or so.”
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br />   “That would be fine, Lily. I’ll look forward to hearing from you after I talk to my bosses in Greece.”

  Lily thanked them both and headed for the door where she paused and threw a kiss over her shoulder before stepping out into the lobby.

  Kalliste reached across the table and put her hand on Hawkins’s arm. “Please accept my apologies, Matt. I should never have dragged you into this project.”

  His throat was raw from the seawater he’d swallowed. His shoulder and the side of his face were sore from the hits he’d taken inside the submersible. “Not your fault, Kalliste. It was lots of fun until the boat fell on our heads.”

  “That’s what I don’t understand, Matt. This was to be nothing but a scientific inquiry. Who would want to sabotage our expedition?”

  “The same person or persons who killed the real Rodriguez and placed an imposter on board the Sancho Panza. Beyond that, I don’t have a clue. Maybe Sergeant Garcia can find out.”

  “Wait until he learns I have gone back to Greece.”

  “When are you leaving?”

  She yawned. “After my nap. Will you be going back to Woods Hole?”

  Hawkins pictured himself back home, sitting at a meeting of the Deep Submergence Laboratory, explaining that the submersible he planned to lease for their expedition was lying on the bottom of the sea.

  “Think I’ll stick around for a while. First, I’ll buy some new clothes to replace the ones that went down with the survey boat. Then I want to see if Falstaff can be salvaged. Captain Santiago said he’d help, so I may take him up on it.”

  She put her hand on his arm. “A No Trespassing sign has been placed around the wreck site. Please promise that you’ll be careful, Matt.”

  “I promise. Don’t forget we have a dinner date.”

  “I’ll take you up on your invitation soon as I get back.”

  Kalliste gave him a goodbye hug and kiss and told him to keep in touch. Hawkins ordered another coffee, called Santiago’s cell phone, and said he wanted to locate his submersible for possible salvage. Santiago asked when he wanted to make the survey.

  “Tomorrow, if possible.”

  “I think I know of a boat that may be available. I’m anxious to locate the Sancho Panza as well. I’ll make a few calls and get back to you.”

  Santiago sounded optimistic about the chances of procuring a boat, but Hawkins was determined not to be a sitting duck this time around. Whatever it was that he’d fallen into was big. Very big. He would need someone to watch his back. And there was only one person he would trust to do it.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Calvin Hayes perched in the elevated seat of the fifteen-foot-long fiberglass Hurricane Aircat as the flat-bottom boat skimmed over the waters of the Louisiana bayou at more than fifty miles per hour. His left hand gripped the rudder stick, the mangroves were a slurry green blur on both sides, and the kick-ass roar of the air-cooled power plant was like music to his ears.

  His lips were stretched in a wide grin. Calvin was within seconds of winning the air boat race. He could almost taste the cold beer the loser had to buy the winner. He put the boat into a banking slalom turn through the last of the mangroves into open water, hunched his powerful shoulder muscles, leaned forward in his seat, and squinted through his goggles at the mile of straightaway that marked the final stretch of the race.

  He’d gotten off to a jackrabbit start and maintained a slight lead. The race had been tight. He’d kept a lead of a hundred feet or so ahead of the other custom-built air-boat. Like his, it had a souped-up airplane engine as a power plant. He hoped that the modifications he had built into his own engine housed in the conical safety screen behind his head would give him the winning edge. His eyes searched for the flag marking the finish. A sliver of red. Coming up fast. He narrowed his concentration, excluding the rest of the world, willing the boat to go faster, although it was practically ready to go airborne.

  That’s when he felt the vibration over his heart. Damned cell phone. The distraction was brief, but it allowed the other boat to draw neck-and-neck with his. They pounded down the home stretch in a dead heat. Hayes might still have won if not for the branch floating in the water directly ahead.

  He swerved the boat to the right of the mangrove limb then back on course. The diversion put him a second behind, which is where he was when his boat blew past the pennant floating on a square of styrofoam.

  Hayes let out a mighty curse. He reduced the power and pulled alongside the winner. The man on the other boat cut the engine, and Hayes could hear him shout:

  “You’all almost had me, Calvin! Why’d’ja slow down?”

  The man was built like a haystack. He was dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt with the sleeves cut off, exposing thick arms that were colored blue with tattoo ink. His chin was buried in a thick blond beard.

  Hayes could have told him about the phone call and the floating branch. But in the mano a mano world of air boat racing, that would have sounded like whining.

  He grinned. “Just testing my brakes, Junior.”

  The man’s laughter almost shook the Spanish moss off the trees. He rubbed his ample gut with one hand and mimicked drinking with the other. Then he powered up the engine, and headed back into the mangroves. They followed the winding five-mile course back to their starting point—a beat-up shack that was combination general store and bar-restaurant. They tied up at the gas dock.

  “You go on ahead,” Hayes told his friend. “Order up a tub of crawfish and I’ll join you in a couple of minutes.”

  He reached for his phone, thinking he might have to deal with company business before the drinking began. “I’ll be damned,” Hayes muttered.

  The caller ID photo was a picture of a much younger Hawkins and Hayes from their Navy SEAL days. Hayes hadn’t started shaving his scalp back then, and both men sported buzz cuts. They had grins on their faces and matching camo do-rags around their heads. The sun-blasted skin on Hawkins’s face was almost as dark as Calvin’s natural dark brown complexion.

  He hit the call button. Hawkins answered immediately.

  “Hi, Calvin. How’re you doing?” Hawkins said.

  “Havin’ more fun than a crawfish swimmin’ in a bowl of gumbo, Hawk. Just finished up an air boat race with a gator hunter.”

  “How’d you make out?”

  “Came in second place. Course, there were only two of us. Nice to hear your voice. Get your emails from time to time, but it’s been awhile since we talked.”

  “Glad we could connect. Figured you might be busy fighting Somali pirates.”

  “Secure Ocean Services is changing our business model. Still keeping the pressure on the pirates with our on-board teams, but we’re more into systems now. Port security, figuring out where the leaks are, putting personnel to stop them. Phasing out the cowboy stuff.”

  “Does that mean they’re phasing out the cowboys?”

  “Got that right, pal. I’m still majority stockholder. The directors pretty much run the show. That’s why I got time to go bayou racing with my pal Junior.”

  “Junior?”

  “Cajun guy. Gator hunter who made a killin’ on reality TV. Drives an old pick-up, but that’s for show. Lives in a trophy house and got a couple of Bentleys in his garage.”

  “What are you driving, Cal?”

  “Ford pick-up.” He paused. “And a Bentley Cabrio convert in the garage of my trophy house. Does two-hundred plus, but it can’t pass a gas station. You still designing those Jules Verne gadgets at Woods Hole?”

  “Taking a break from the scientific stuff, actually. I’m in Spain on a shipwreck expedition.”

  “Nothin’ wrong with that,” Calvin said.

  “Actually, old pal, there’s a lot wrong with it. You got a minute?”

  “Hold on.” Hayes went inside the shack which was filled with the succulent fragrance of boiling crawfish. He told Junior to go ahead without him.

  He put a bottle of Dixie beer on the tab and walked out to
a bench on the end of the fuel dock. “Okay, Hawk. What’s got you riled up?”

  “It’s a complicated story. I’ll give you the CliffsNotes version.”

  Hawkins told him about Kalliste and the invitation to survey what could be a history-making shipwreck. Calvin set his beer aside and listened intently as Hawkins laid out the details of the attack and sinking.

  Calvin had an encyclopedic knowledge of weaponry. “From what you said, it sounds like you got hit by Spike missiles. Anything bigger could have sent you to the bottom with one shot.”

  “I’ve been out of the war game. Not familiar with the brand.”

  “Developed to slow down swarm-type attacks. Couple of feet long and a few inches wide. Highly portable. They pack a heck of a wallop, but nothing like the big hardware that’s available. Interesting what you said about a missile blowing up the guy on deck.”

  “What’s your take on that?”

  “Coulda been intentional. Spikes are pretty accurate. He never knew what hit him. Still a tough way to go.”

  “It probably saved my ass. The captain and his son had time to get a life boat in the water.”

  “Glad you’re all okay. Where do you go from here?”

  “I want to see if my submersible is salvageable. I’ll need someone to ride shotgun.”

  “I’m in. If I can scare up an executive jet, I’ll be there tomorrow.”

  “Abby’s company always has planes in the air. That’s how I got over here.”

  “Good idea. I’ll give her a call.”

  “Thanks, Cal. I knew I could count on you. I’m staying at the Hotel Cadiz. One more favor. I’m wondering if you can pick something up for me on the way.”

  Hayes listened to the request and said it would be no problem. Hanging up, he stared off at the mangroves. He was picturing mud huts set against the rugged landscape of Afghanistan. The SEALs mission was supposed to be routine, but the drug lord they’d been sent to capture knew they were coming and had ringed his compound with explosive devices. A fellow SEAL had triggered the IED and was blown to pieces. Hawkins was close by, and his leg caught some of the fragments that would have killed Hayes. He still felt guilty about not having Matt’s back when the Navy dumped him.