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

by Paul Kemprecos

  “What exactly does it mean?”

  “When I translated this section, I thought it referred to the fact that the property had been owned by a heretic, who the church could claim was unholy.”

  “That seems like a logical supposition,” Abby said.

  “But now that I have given it further thought, I have my doubts. As you recall, the owner, Fernandez, was tossed into prison and later burned at the stake. Fire was seen as the ultimate cure for heresy. The lucky sinner was cleansed of all their sins. ‘Relaxed,’ as they said. So there would be no need for additional cleansing, as suggested in the deed. Then there’s the section about the work crews.”

  “The ones who built the castle?”

  “Correct. This line that says a priest was delegated to accompany the work crews. The Inquisition had spies everywhere. I took it to mean they were sending along someone to keep an eye out for heretics. What it actually said is that the priest would ‘go before’ the crews to cleanse. It was, in fact, an exorcism of the property.”

  “Exorcism has to do with demons, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes. Certain priests could sweep out demons the same way I swept dirt from the chapel floor. When I first read this, I translated it as old demons. Now that I look at it, I see that it could mean, ‘Old Gods.’ Pagan gods, in other words.”

  “I don’t get it,” Abby said. “Does that mean that the owner of the land was a pagan?”

  “Highly unlikely. Under the Inquisition you could be accused of heresy for simply taking a bath or cooking the wrong type of food. Someone who worshiped pagan gods might just as well hand the executioners a box of matches.”

  “So if it wasn’t the owner who was pagan; it was the property itself?”

  “That’s what I’m thinking. The plains of La Mancha have been inhabited by humans since long before the country of Spain ever existed. Roman ruins abound. It’s not uncommon for newer settlements to be built over old ones. The castle may have been built on pagan ruins.”

  Abby pointed to the page of pictographs that had been found with the deed. “This is old Minoan script. Is it possible that the ruins were Minoan?”

  “The Minoans were very active in Spain for trading and mining. It wouldn’t be out of the question.”

  “That could explain the castle’s name, Castillo de Cuernos.”

  “Castle of the Horns? How so? I thought that had to do with cattle.”

  “That may be true, but the bull was sacred in Minoan religion. The altar used for Minoan religious ceremonies was called the Horns of Consecration. Is it possible that the castle was built over a Minoan temple?”

  “Yes, of course! That would explain it. The Inquisitors were happy to take property and convey it to favored individuals. The Salazars, in this case. But the purity of the Inquisition could be challenged if the property were pagan, thus heretical and unclean.”

  “It would be like a real estate agent in our country getting in trouble for selling a contaminated house lot.”

  “Your American agent could merely lose his license. During the Inquisition a mistake like that could cost someone their life.”

  Questions whirled in Abby’s mind. Did the Salazars acquire the land in spite of the pagan contamination or because of it? Why would the Salazars be interested in a lost civilization? Especially at a time when the world had forgotten the civilization that had once flourished on Crete.

  She couldn’t wait to tell Matt what she had discovered. But Abby was not one to jump to conclusions. She had built her successful career as a logistics expert on her ability to analyze complex situations and use her findings to carry out complicated tasks. She sat down at the table and motioned for Father Francisco to do the same.

  “If you don’t mind,” she said. “Let’s go over this again.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  Hawkins paced the deck of the Santa Maria, his mind churning. Every minute that passed put Kalliste further out of reach and deeper in danger.

  He was about to start back toward the bow when a taxi drove along the dock and stopped near the boat slip. Calvin got out of the cab and gave him a wave. Another passenger emerged and followed Calvin up the gangway. The man looked to be in his thirties. He had a movie-star handsome face and a rugged build. He was dressed beach casual in shorts, leather sandals and a blue polo shirt. An LA baseball cap was clamped down over a thatch of long, platinum-colored hair.

  As Calvin came up the gangway he noticed the stony gaze in his friend’s eyes. “It’s okay, Hawk. He’s clean. Carrying his hardware in my backpack. This is Chad. I guess his name was Pouty when you met before.”

  Hawkins was in no mood for games. He had expected to see the red-faced Englishman, not an aging beach bum. “We’ve got a problem, Calvin. This isn’t the guy I met on Crete.”

  Lapsing into a British accent, Chad said, “You’ve got a short memory, guv’nor. How could you forget the delightful chinwag we had atop a hill in Gournia and our lovely chat on Spinalonga?”

  Hawkins stared at Chad in disbelief. The voice was definitely that of the loquacious Englishman.

  “That was you?”

  “One and the same, old chap.” Chad switched back to an American accent, “I was trying to get your attention. Hope it worked.”

  “It worked, whatever your name is. Time to talk.”

  Hawkins led the way into the pilot house. He slid into the captain’s chair and told Chad to take a seat. “Tell me who you are.”

  “It’s a long, sad story,” he said.

  “I’m sure I’ve heard longer and sadder ones.”

  Chad took off his ball cap and brushed the hair out of his eyes. “To begin with, I was born in California.”

  Chad laid out his progression from California beach bum to Special Ops and the encounter with the IED that ended his acting career and his engagement. He described how he’d parleyed his actor training into being a master of disguise, which led to a mercenary career using the name Leonidas, up until Salazar fired him. That’s when he became Hawkins’s shadow and protector.

  Hawkins could have kicked himself. “I must have been asleep at the switch not to pick you up trailing us in Crete and Santorini.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up. I ditched Pouty and changed my persona to the American tourist you see before you. I’m good at what I do.”

  “Evidently.” Hawkins narrowed his eyes. “My question is why you do it? One minute you’ve got me and my friends in your sights. The next, you’re risking your ass to save mine. What gives?”

  Chad shrugged. “Salazar wanted you dead. I took the contract, but he reneged after I screwed up. Figured if I kept you alive I could use you as leverage so he’ll pay up.”

  “I don’t buy it, Corporal. You could have turned me over to Salazar any time you wanted. Instead, you kept me out of trouble. Not once, but twice. Then you did the same with Calvin. Why?”

  “Maybe I’m just a nice guy.”

  “You’re not a nice guy, Chad. You’re a cold-blooded killer for hire.”

  “And you were a SEAL. Part of your job was killing people.”

  Chad was closer to danger than he knew. Under the calm exterior, Hawkins was like a sleeping volcano.

  In a quiet voice, he said, “I wouldn’t go there if I were you. You cost me a million dollar submersible and you sank my friend’s boat.” He made a pinching gesture with his thumb and forefinger. “I’m this far from taking you thirty miles out to sea and letting you swim back to Spain, the path you planned for me.”

  Chad glanced at Calvin, who nodded in agreement.

  He swallowed hard and the smug expression vanished from his face. “I was out of line. Maybe I came over to your side because we’d both got busted up. You in Afghanistan. Me in Iraq.”

  Without shifting his hard gaze from Chad’s strangely perfect features, Hawkins said, “You’ve been listening to our guest, Calvin. Think Chad’s being straight with us?”

  Calvin folded his arms across his chest. A lazy smile came
to his lips. “I could hear the violins playing when he got into that band-of-brothers, us against the rest of the world stuff, Hawk. We’ve gotta remember Chad’s an actor.”

  Hawkins said, “Why didn’t you find another gig, Chad? Salazar is rich and powerful. Why do you want to go up against him? The cost-benefit ratio doesn’t add up.”

  “I wanted to score big so I could get out of the business.”

  “I don’t think so,” Hawkins said. “Guys like you are the maggots of this world. And there’s plenty of decaying flesh to keep you busy. I don’t trust you, I don’t like you, and I don’t believe you. Calvin, please escort Mr. Chad off this boat before I change my mind about the long swim home.”

  Chad raised his palms. “Wait.” No change came to the perfect face, but his voice was emotional, “I met a girl in Cadiz. Young kid. Pretty thing. Name was Isabel. She was a prostitute, but I got to be more than a customer. She accepted me for what I am.”

  “What are you, Chad?”

  “I’m a monster.” Slowly, he peeled the mask off his face to reveal the massive scarring. The lip-less mouth opened wide. “Boo,” he said.

  During his recovery in Walter Reed hospital, Hawkins had seen lots of men with burn injuries, but these were the worst he’d ever encountered.

  “What happened to you?”

  “Convoy outside of Mosul. Road was supposedly cleared, but the bad guys snuck an IED in before we got there. Humvee was one of the early ones with no bottom armor. My crew was killed. Vehicle became a bonfire. I was the marshmallow.”

  “Sorry, Corporal.” His voice had lost its edge. “Where does your Cadiz girlfriend fit in?”

  “After I messed up the job on your boat, Salazar said he was still going to pay me. He said he was sending someone to my hotel with the money. Salazar doesn’t play nicey-nice, so that should have raised a red flag with me, but I was high on grass. Couple of his thugs showed up. Isabel answered the door. They killed her. I was getting out of the shower. I nailed one, then the other.” He paused. “Now do you know why I want to get to Salazar?”

  “Revenge is the most plausible reason you’ve given us. How’d you screw up the missile attack?”

  “I was stoned there, too. I wasted a Spike on the guy on deck.”

  “Rodriguez, the government observer.”

  “Don’t know his name. He had it coming. Salazar had used his connections to get a spy on board. Rodriguez called in when you were over the shipwreck and Salazar gave me the order to launch.”

  “Why did Salazar want me killed?”

  “He wanted to torpedo the expedition. He’d got the government to refuse a permit for the project, but the Spaniards changed their mind when you joined the project. He needed to stop things fast. I’d done some at-sea stuff for him before, and had been on call to stop the expedition.”

  “Which is exactly what he did after you screwed up.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Hawkins told Chad about the helicopter attack on the wreck site. “Could Salazar order up an operation like that?”

  “In a heartbeat.”

  “From the sounds of it, Salazar has a lot of clout,” Calvin said.

  “No doubt about that, but I always had the feeling that he was working for someone else,” Chad said. “He seemed afraid of making a quick decision. He’d tell me to wait. Almost as if he were checking with a higher up.”

  “Any idea who it was?”

  “Only that it was someone who wanted to stop you from diving.”

  “What do you want from us, Chad?”

  “You want to help your friend. I want to get to Salazar. Maybe we can work together.”

  Hawkins turned to Calvin. “What do you think?”

  “Dunno,” Calvin said, “A stoned-out pothead with a score to settle isn’t the kind of guy I want watching my back.”

  “Don’t blame you. But I know I can’t take Salazar on alone,” Chad said. “You would still call the shots. I haven’t forgotten how to follow orders.”

  “I don’t trust you either, but we’ve got to get to Kalliste.” He glanced at Calvin who gave him a nod.

  “Okay, Chad. You’re in, but one screw up and you’re dead meat.”

  “The only dead meat I want is Salazar.”

  “In time. You can deal with Salazar after we rescue our friend.”

  “Okay. Where do we start?”

  “At Salazar’s castle. Let’s go for a ride in the country.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  The three black Mercedes GL class SUVs carrying Salazar and his lieutenants emerged in a line from the garage under the Auroch Industries tower. The caravan wound its way through the Cadiz traffic to the highway that led out of the city.

  After traveling around twenty miles, the SUVs took a ramp off the highway, drove to a secondary road, then turned onto a little-used country lane that ran past a heavily wooded section enclosed by a fence festooned with ‘No Trespassing’ signs.

  The SUVs pulled onto a driveway marked by a ‘Private’ sign. The lead driver remotely activated the gate. The vehicles followed a gravel driveway hemmed in by thick growth. The tract of land was under the control of a realty trust anonymously owned by Auroch. After traveling a few miles, the vehicles parked in a cul-de-sac. Salazar’s driver got out and went around to the back of the SUV. He opened the hatch door and lifted out a wooden box. Then he followed Salazar, trailed by the other lieutenants, all heavily armed, onto a path leading into the woods.

  They walked past a shooting range, stopping to pick up pairs of ear protectors, then continued on to a cleared rectangular area a couple of hundred feet across. In the center of the open square was a metal platform resting on a waist-high steel framework.

  Salazar was still fuming over the Santorini debacle. He had left the island empty-handed, and one of his men had been killed during the exchange of gunfire on the cliffs. He was already down the two fools who had fatally botched their mission to kill Leonidas. Then, on the way into the city from the airport, Lily Porter called to say the High Priestess had died. She had called for a Gathering and expected him to be at the Maze.

  “I will look forward to bearing witness to your ascension,” Salazar said.

  Lily made no attempt to acknowledge the compliment. “Tell me what happened.”

  “My men broke into the Greek woman’s house. Hawkins must have had warning. He and another escaped along the caldera cliffs. One of my men was killed in the chase.”

  “No sign of the device?”

  “We searched the house and found nothing.”

  “It’s fortunate the Priors were able to carry out the will of the Mother Goddess.”

  It was a subtle rebuke. Lily showed no sympathy for the loss of his man. More telling, she had said nothing about his previous failures. The failed attempt to stop the ship expedition, to deal with Hawkins and the loss of the translating device. She was keeping her anger in check, but he knew that he would soon be finished. The situation was deteriorating even without the troublesome security breach in Oregon.

  Salazar had to move fast on all fronts. As the next in line, Lily would be anointed the new High Priestess, giving her vast powers of life and death and total control of Auroch Industries. Before the death of the crone, Lily lacked the power to go head-to-head with him. The authoritative tone to her voice now, signaled that she was already enjoying a taste of the authority that would come with her rise to the High Priestess throne.

  Salazar saw this not as a challenge but as an opportunity. With a single blow he could destroy the new High Priestess and her assistants and eliminate the last two Priors. With the core of the Believers gone, he would take total control of Auroch. Once the mission in the United States was carried out, he would be sitting at the top of a multi-national corporation that controlled most, if not all, of the world’s mining, petroleum and gas extraction operations. With the money and power that came with an energy monopoly, political influence would follow. He would be able to do what
he wanted, where he wanted. His first step would be to eliminate, or bend to his will, the members of the Way who held key positions in the company. And that would be easy once they saw there was nothing to fear from the priestesses or the Priors.

  In a supreme irony, the bull that the Believers held sacred would be the key to carrying out his goals.

  Salazar’s driver placed the box on the ground, lifted out an object and set it on the platform. The bull’s head was around twelve inches high, fashioned from a greenish-black material. Sharp, curving horns gleamed in the sunlight. Red eyes blazed from the broad face.

  Salazar ran his fingers over the bull’s crown and down the blunt muzzle to the white line defining its snout.

  “Gentlemen, this is a Minoan vessel called a rhyton, and was designed to hold liquid which can be poured out through the nostrils. The original was found in the ancient city of Knossos and was made of Serpentinite with inlays of shell, crystal and jasper. The horns were born of gilded wood.”

  He turned to his explosives expert. “Bruno, could you tell us how this rhyton differs from the original?”

  “Glad to, Mr. Salazar. The head here is made mostly of PETN, the same explosive being used for the show we’ll be putting on in the U.S. The horns enclose chemical detonators.”

  “And this is the triggering remote,” Salazar reached into his right ear with his fingertip and dislodged a contoured piece of pink plastic. He held it in the palm of his hand. “This is capable of sending a signal more than a hundred feet. Shall we give it a test?”

  He led the way behind an earthen bunker. Small viewing ports enclosed in tinted blast-proof glass allowed a view of the platform. Salazar and his men donned ear protectors, then he took the ear plug in his fingers, turned a knob on it and pressed three times. The bull’s head vanished. In its place was a miniature sun of yellow and red fire. Even with the protectors, the explosion hurt their ears.