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

by Paul Kemprecos

  “His name is Chad Williams. We met him before when he was calling himself Pouty.”

  “The mysterious British tourist we met in Crete?”

  “Mr. Pouty gets around. He’s the guy who sank Captain Santiago’s boat and sent Falstaff to the bottom.”

  Abby searched his face for any sign that he was joking. Seeing none, she said, “Are you crazy? That man is a killer.”

  “I had the same reaction. But he’s got another agenda that evidently involves coming to my rescue. I want to find out what it is. He says he can help us find Kalliste.”

  “I can see your reasoning, Matt, but it could be a trick.”

  “Yes it could, Ab. But I have to go with what I’ve got.”

  “In that case, you should talk to him. I’ll get a plane to Santorini.”

  “There’s something else. I’d like to check out the Salazar castle. Which means I’ll need a helicopter.”

  Picking up her phone, she made a number of calls. Minutes later she hung up. “I found a company plane in Frankfurt. I’ve talked to the pilot and he’s on his way to the airport. Plane will be gassed up and ready to go pick up Calvin and company in Santorini. We’ll have them back here by morning. My people are still working on the helicopter.”

  “Incredible as usual, Abby.”

  “I’m not doing all the work. You’ll have to come up with a safe meeting place. Having a chat with the man who tried to kill you doesn’t seem like something you would do at a café over lunch.”

  “I was thinking of a more private setting where we’d be in control. The Santa Maria is docked at the harbor and we’re still paying for her lease.”

  “Sounds perfect. Do you want me there?”

  “Might be simpler if it’s just Calvin and me.”

  “Okay. Now tell me why you want to look at the castle.”

  “From what we know about the deed Father Francisco translated, the Salazar castle seems to be the key to this mess. I want to see it in the flesh. Just a feeling.”

  “I understand. I’ve had a feeling that there might be something we missed when we talked to the captain’s brother. I think I should see him again.”

  “Good idea, Abby. Thanks for all you’re doing.”

  “No problem. Well, then, I guess we’re done for the night,” Abby said.

  There was an awkward moment when no words were spoken. Abby was standing close and he could feel the heat from her body. Hawkins had the mental discipline that was a holdover from his days as a Navy SEAL. But his mind belonged to a healthy male in the presence of a beautiful woman whose nightie failed to hide the curves he knew so well. He glanced over at the bed.

  “Maybe not,” Hawkins said. “We’ve got some time before Calvin arrives. I’ve been thinking what a shame it would be to waste those warm sheets.”

  Abby raised an eyebrow. “I totally agree.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  The next morning after a breakfast of gluten free raisin bread, Molly got into her leathers and straddled her Harley. Leaving Bend, she followed the road through the forests around Mount Hood. She rolled into Portland late in the morning and pulled up in front of the Dragonfly coffee shop on Thurman Street.

  A few blonde wood tables were occupied. A man and woman sat at one to the rear of the shop. When she stepped inside they waved her over. She walked past a man in a Red Sox baseball hat who was bent over his laptop.

  “I’m Molly Sutherland,” she said. “I think you’re waiting for me.”

  With his long, graying, brown hair tied in a pigtail, and a neatly trimmed beard, the man at the table looked like an aging hippie. He maintained a grim expression on his gaunt face, told her to take a seat and introduced himself as Jared Spaulding. The woman in the business suit identified herself as Attorney Alberta Mullins. Her manner was crisp rather than cold, Molly thought, but her attempt at a warm smile wouldn’t have melted an icicle.

  “Thank you for coming all this way, Ms. Sutherland. After your call, I ran your name and telephone number through a private investigator. He said you were retired Army. Is that correct?”

  “Yes, ma’am. That’s correct.”

  “What do you do now?” she said.

  “I’m on an Army pension but I work as a bird photographer and trainer at the High Desert Museum in Bend. You can call them if you want.”

  “Thanks. I’ll do that.” She jotted down the information in a small notebook. “Would you tell us again why you’re interested in Auroch Industries and Viktor Salazar?”

  Molly was ready for the question. “Like I said, my Uncle Gowdy died in a coal mine explosion. While I was working on a family history project, I found out that the mine was owned by Auroch. I started poking around and learned that they were never called into account for safety violations. Mr. Salazar is the boss, so I thought maybe he might do the right thing and apologize, even though it was years ago.”

  Spaulding let out a barking laugh. “Good luck with that.”

  “I see what you’re saying,” Molly said. “Big company like that wouldn’t pay any attention to me.”

  “Uh-uh,” he said. “They would pay a lot of attention, and that’s the problem.”

  Molly furrowed her brow. “Not sure I understand.”

  Attorney Mullins reached into the briefcase by her side, pulled out a folder and opened it on the table. She extracted half a dozen photographs and spread them out. Taken from different angles, at ground level and from the air, the photos showed a village, or what was left of it. Most of the corrugated metal shacks had disappeared into a sinkhole.

  His voice cracking with emotion, Spaulding said, “I’ve got photos of the same scene repeated over and over again in different places. Only the body count varies. In this incident, twenty-three people—men, women and children—died when an Auroch mining operation weakened the ground under their village.”

  “Mr. Spaulding was the chairman of an environmental and humanitarian organization when these disasters occurred,” Ms. Mullins chimed in. “After a series of highly-publicized disasters near Auroch mines, Jared pulled together an international consortium to confront the company. He can tell you what happened next.”

  “We had lots of momentum,” Spaulding said. “Their public relations department folded under the world-wide criticism. They put me directly in touch with Salazar. To my surprise, he took full responsibility, said he would provide restitution to those impacted, and would be open to suggestions on how Auroch could make amends and prevent further disasters. He said Auroch was heavily involved in alternative energy.”

  Molly nodded. “I saw that Auroch belongs to an energy council working on stuff that could put him out of business. Seem funny to you?”

  “Yeah. Go figure. Maybe that’s one reason we believed him when he said he’d tend to our demands personally and have his staff carry out his wishes.”

  “Salazar was a man of his word,” Attorney Mullins interrupted. “Auroch had an army of lawyers, investigators and accountants in-waiting. They must have been prepped for weeks because we were served with subpoenas within hours of the telephone call. Offices and cars were vandalized. Our computers were hacked. Worse, the police came in with false charges that were brought against the organization; our donors were warned against giving any funds to help us. People followed our staff everywhere.”

  “That’s an awful lot of trouble.”

  “We planned to hang in, but we had some amazing bad luck. Our treasurer was killed in a car accident. Hit and run. That put us over the edge. In a matter of days, our organization was dead as well.”

  “Sorry to hear that. Sounds like you tried to do some good.”

  “We did lots of good,” Spaulding said. “And if you know what’s good for you, stay away from Auroch and Salazar. They’re poison.”

  “Thanks,” Molly said.

  Spaulding must have noticed the firm set of her jaw. “You’re not going to take our advice, are you?”

  “Uncle Gowdy’s wife was my favorite au
nt and their kids are my best cousins.”

  The attorney shook her head. “Weren’t the Hatfields and McCoys from West Virginia?”

  “Hatfields were. McCoys came from Kentucky. I’m probably related to both of them. That’s the way it is where I come from. We’re all kin.”

  Spaulding sighed. “If you persist in going ahead, promise me a couple of things. One, come to us if you need help. Two, be careful.”

  “My Maw and Paw didn’t raise any dumb kids,” Molly said sarcastically. “I’ll keep looking over my shoulder.”

  If Molly heeded her own advice, she would have paid more attention to the man in the Red Sox cap who was positioned so he could glance up from his laptop without seeming too obvious. He had purchased the cap in Boston, where he had been the day before when the call came in telling him to fly to Portland. He had arrived that morning on the red-eye and taken a cab directly from the airport to the café. He wore a hearing aid that could shut out extraneous sound. He had been listening to the conversation, typing out notes on who said what. He had already taken down the license plate number of the Harley. When the conversation ended, he typed out the time, then sent the notes as an attachment to the email.

  Within milliseconds, the words spoken at Molly’s table winged their way across the continental United States and the Atlantic Ocean to the security department of Auroch Industries. The recipient glanced at the source, printed out the message and then placed it in a folder that was delivered by hand to the big office with the strip-mining murals on the walls.

  As Molly was throwing a leg over the seat of her motorcycle, her words were being studied by the subject of her discussion. Salazar was back in his office after a quick flight from Santorini. He read the notes again. It was a small annoyance, but he was a man who abhorred loose ends, and after the Santorini debacle, he wanted someone to pay. He reached for his phone, punched a button, and said:

  “Tell our man on the scene to deal with this Sutherland person. Immediately.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  The castle perched on a hill overlooking the wind-swept plains of the sparsely-populated central region of the Iberian Peninsula was known as, Castillo de Cuernos, or Castle of the Horns. The guidebooks said that the name was derived from the cattle farms that once surrounded the castle. Most of the grazing land had been turned over to olive and grape cultivation, but the farmland hadn’t been tilled for decades; all that was left in the sere soil were blackened vines and twisted tree trunks.

  A river ran past the castle, and in the heyday of agricultural production, boats transported goods from the fields and vineyards to market along the winding waterway. Workers lived in a bustling village built on the bank of the river, but the settlement had long ago been abandoned.

  The figure in black stood on the east tower of Castillo de Cuernos, eyes fixed on a star-like pinpoint of light that rapidly grew in brightness. The pulsating sound of air being thrashed echoed across the plains and the star materialized into a helicopter that came in low over the parapets. The rotor air-wash blew back the hood to reveal the marble white features of Lily Porter. Circling the castle once, the helicopter hovered, then dropped into the courtyard. By then, Lily was in an elevator on her way to the base of the tower. She stepped out into the courtyard and strode through the cloud of dust that the rotors had kicked up. The fuselage door opened, a ladder flipped out and two Priors maneuvered a stretcher through the opening.

  Kalliste lay on the stretcher, her body covered with a blanket and tied down with nylon straps. The restraints were necessary because she was starting to come out of the deep sleep induced by the powerful drugs injected into her bloodstream. Lily gazed down at Kalliste, awe-struck at her beauty. She had truly earned her name: the fair one. But Lily’s appraisal was the cold assessment of a farmer admiring the perfect features on an animal before sending it off to slaughter.

  Locked within that still body was the dangerous DNA going back to King Minos.

  The sacrifice that had been delayed for thousands of years would at last be accomplished. Kalliste would be the end of the Minos line. The Mother Goddess would have more blood than she could drink, and as a reward would bestow unimaginable blessings on the Way of the Axe.

  She leaned close to Kalliste’s ear. “Don’t be afraid,” she whispered. “It’s me, your friend Lily.”

  Kalliste’s eyes remained closed, but her lips parted slightly.

  “Your friend Hawkins wants to come to you. Tell me where he is.”

  Kalliste scrunched her eyelids tight but made no reply. Lily leaned over and placed her hand on Kalliste’s shoulder.

  “Tell me, Kalliste. Tell me where Hawkins is.”

  The lips remained silent.

  Lily shook Kalliste’s shoulder, but to no avail. She felt her phone vibrating in her robe pocket. She recognized the number on the caller ID. It belonged to the nurse at the Paris sanitarium where the High Priestess was being treated. She ordered the stretcher-bearers to go on.

  “This had better be important,” she said into the phone.

  She heard a sob, followed by the whispered words, “She’s gone.”

  Lily needed no more detail to know what happened. The Head Priestess had died. Lily knew after her last visit that this day would come, but the announcement was still a shock.

  “When?”

  “Minutes ago. In her sleep. The monitors flat-lined. It was too late to bring her back. What should I do?”

  “Have you talked to anyone else?”

  “Only you.”

  With icy calm, Lily said, “Prepare the body immediately for transport. Alert the security detail to be ready. I’ll be in Paris tonight to escort the High Priestess home.”

  As she clicked off, grief washed over Lily, but not for long. With the death of the crone, Lily would become the new High Priestess. Her word would be law. She looked down at Kalliste and said to the Prior holding the front of the stretcher, “How much longer will she sleep?”

  “Several hours. Longer, if we inject more drugs, but that could be dangerous.”

  “Take her to the Maze. Keep her unconscious until I get back, but she must not come to any harm.”

  She watched the Priors carry the stretcher toward the shrine entrance and considered the moves she would make after she had been made High Priestess. She had quietly watched Salazar gather together his private army. She knew of his conversations with the corporate managers. He had been subtle, hinting that change was needed, but she wasn’t fooled. Salazar wanted to take over the Auroch corporate empire.

  When the first High Priestess had arrived on Spanish shores, she had needed the help of the local inhabitants to consolidate her hold. The Salazars had lent their services as thugs for hire, and the relationship had worked for centuries. The Salazar family became the public face of the mining company that evolved into Auroch. But behind the curtains, the Maze pulled the strings.

  Lily would deal with Salazar at the Gathering, when her spirit would merge with all those who came before her, going back to the first High Priestess. But the loss of the translation device worried her. As long as the machine was out of her control, the possibility existed that someone would figure out how to use it to translate Linear A.

  This must never happen. That rule had been drilled into her head since she was a girl, then later as a promising young priestess. For thousands of years those who followed the Way of the Axe had communicated in the ancient script, secure in the knowledge that its secrets were safe from prying eyes. The script bound them together, shielding from public view the horrifying theology of blood that had allowed them to expand their wealth and influence. Anyone who came close to decoding the script was dealt with in the same way—sudden death, made to look accidental. The practice had worked. Until now. Until Kalliste and her friend Hawkins interfered.

  She needed to find Hawkins and the device. She had sensed that he and Kalliste were close when she met him in the Cadiz hotel. Kalliste would be the perfect bait to lure h
im to the Maze. Lily would have to be careful, though. Hawkins had shown that he was no fool.

  She gazed at the Tripartite Shrine for a moment, absorbing the power of the Mother Goddess that seemed to flow from the three-towered building that housed the entrance to the Maze. Then she climbed into the helicopter, barked an order to the pilot, and started off on the first leg of her trip to bring the body of the High Priestess back home to rest with the others.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  Abby awakened to discover Hawkins gone. A note on his pillow said he would call her later. Hawkins was right when he warned of the danger of bringing emotions on a mission. Abby hadn’t reached the high levels of the Navy by being a worrywart. The best way to take her mind off Hawkins was to throw herself at a problem.

  She called Captain Santiago and said she wanted to see his brother again. He called her back a few minutes later. Francisco would love to talk to her. Miguel was on his way to the hotel to give her a ride to the chapel. She quickly got dressed and was ready when Miguel knocked on her door. When they arrived at the chapel, Miguel stayed with the car. Abby went in to see Father Francisco and found him sweeping the main aisle.

  He gave her a broad smile. “Blessed are those who clean up after others,” he said. “As you can see, I serve St. Vincent as his janitor as well as his gardener.” He put the broom aside, brushed his hands, and said, “My brother told me you wanted to talk more about the deed of penance.”

  “Yes. I’m wondering if I missed something hidden in the bureaucratic language.”

  “That’s possible. The deed deliberately disguises what essentially was a vast killing machine, and was intended to divert people from the monstrous evil of the enterprise.”

  “One clause stood out. Something about the property being cleansed of demons before it could be transferred.”

  “I agree. It is a curious phrase. Let’s take another look at it.”

  He led the way into the musty-smelling library, unlocked a desk drawer and pulled out the Spanish copy of the deed. Placing the document on a reading table, he ran his index finger down the text. “Here it is. Actually, several references describe the property as being ‘unclean’ or ‘unholy.’ ”