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

by Paul Kemprecos

  He tucked a short-barreled pistol into a sock holster. He was standing on the curb when the black Mercedes SUV pulled up in front of him. Salazar rolled down the window and beckoned from the front passenger seat for him to get in.

  The two bulky men in the back seat slid over to make room. His seatmates and the driver had stuffed themselves into black running outfits that looked like they’d come off the rack at Assassins “R” Us. Baseball caps were pulled down over aviator sunglasses. Their heads seemed to sit on their shoulders without benefit of a neck. Salazar was dressed the same way.

  Salazar introduced Chad as the replacement member of the team. There were grunted responses and a couple of hard stares.

  The SUV pulled away from the curb, headed out of the city and after a short drive, left the highway and traveled on back roads. The Mercedes turned onto a driveway marked Private and plunged into thick woods. The vehicle stopped in front of a log house at the end of the road. Chad and the other men got out of the SUV and followed Salazar into the cabin to a room that had a TV monitor filling an entire wall.

  Salazar went over to a table that held an object covered with a sheet. He told everyone to take a seat and clicked the remote control of a Power Point projector. Chad almost fell out of his chair with surprise. He was looking at a photo of the castle he had seen from the helicopter.

  Salazar said, “This castle is called Castillo de Cuernos. It was built by my family, but for five hundred years it has been under the control of a small group. Our goal is to take it back. Bruno will fill you in on the operational plan.”

  Salazar sat down and Bruno got up and flicked on a laser pointer. He placed the red dot on an entrance to the castle.

  “The castle is defended by two sets of walls and has only one land entrance. All Middle Ages stuff. It’s also protected by sensors, inside and out, that detect intruders and respond accordingly. Signs and recorded messages warn trespassers that they will be met with lethal force. Guns mounted on top of the walls are programmed to fire on anyone in the kill zone. Any air incursion will be met by a drone armed with missiles.”

  That explained the warm reception when the tourist helicopter got too close.

  “Okay. I’m impressed. How do we get past the air defenses?”

  “The defenses can be temporarily disabled allowing visitors to land on a helipad within the castle walls. About a dozen guys will be in the courtyard. All top guns for hire. But we go in with Mr. Salazar, who is there by my invitation. He’s allowed four bodyguards. Once we are admitted past the first line of walls we will make the switch.”

  “I don’t get you. What switch is that?”

  “I’ve told Bruno and his men about your unique shape-shifting talents,” Salazar said.

  “Don’t know if I’d call it shape-shifting, Mr. Salazar. I’m pretty good with make-up.”

  “Don’t be modest. You were more than good when you borrowed my face and walked past security into my office. I want you to impersonate me again after we pass through the second wall enclosure.”

  Bruno clicked the remote control. The castle photo vanished to be replaced by a picture of an odd-looking structure that had two towers flanking a taller one.

  Chad shook his head. “Looks like something on the Strip in Vegas.”

  Salazar said, “We’ll make the switch in this building. We’ll all be wearing face masks, so the transition should be simple. There’s another level below this one, and that’s where the ceremony will be.”

  “What sort of ceremony, Mr. Salazar?”

  “It’s a religious ceremony. It will be attended by a dozen or so priestesses and two bodyguards. Your role is a minor one.” He removed the cloth covering the object on the table, revealing the bull’s head; rhyton. “You will carry this to an altar in the ceremonial sanctuary.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Not quite. You’ll be given a small remote device. You will place the rhyton on the altar. Then you will step back; when the ceremony begins you will press the remote button which will send a signal to us. While all attention is on the ceremony we will disarm the bodyguards and take control of the sanctuary.”

  “Getting past your office security guard was one thing. Do you really think we can pull off an identity swap?”

  “I don’t just think it. I know it. The light inside the sanctuary will be dim. You will be wearing a costume that will disguise you. You won’t have to worry about opposition. Only women and chosen male attendants are allowed in the sanctuary for the ceremony.”

  Stretching his lips in a slop-sided grin, Chad said, “How’d you get so lucky?”

  “My special status allows me to participate in the ceremony,” Salazar said. “That’s all you have to know.”

  “Okay. When does this go down?”

  Salazar said, “I can’t give you an exact time, but expect to get a call within the next twenty-four hours. You must be ready to move in disguise on a moment’s notice.”

  The ride back to the hotel was uneventful. Chad got out of the SUV and watched until the taillights disappeared around a corner. He went back to his room and poured a tall glass of whiskey. He sat in a chair and sipped from his glass.

  Salazar had seemed irritated when asked for details. There was also an edge to that silky smooth voice when Chad asked how he had access to the women-only party in the sanctuary.

  The question popped back into his mind. Why would Salazar be allowed entrance into a female ceremony? The answer was so far-fetched he pushed it aside, but the thought kept nudging him like a hungry puppy. All the signs were there. The feminine flesh around the cheeks and mouth. The lack of any facial hair; not even a whisker. The heavy physique of someone who worked hard to keep the pounds off.

  He clicked on his cell phone and after a short Google search found some photographs whose subjects could have been Salazar’s brothers. Eunuchs. Young men had once been castrated to give them the amazing singing voices that echoed off the walls of great cathedrals. Salazar had been modified early in his life not to change his voice, but to allow him to take part in a ceremony that excluded males. He poured himself another half glass and slugged it down. For a second, he entertained a fleeting sympathy for Salazar at the barbaric operation that had turned him into a freak. It quickly passed, to be replaced by a cold appraisal. It didn’t make any difference in his hatred, but at least he knew now why Salazar was so damned bad-tempered.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

  Calvin snapped his fingers. “Got it. We build a trebuchet siege engine, buckle on a couple of parachutes, then catapult over the wall and float down like feathers.”

  “Poetic, but not practical,” Abby said. “If it worked, the castle defenders would have been toast a long time ago.”

  “That’s because parachutes hadn’t been invented yet,” Calvin said.

  Abby rolled her eyes and turned to Hawkins. “Calvin didn’t quite get the concept when you said we would need to be creative.”

  “Thanks for the suggestion, Cal, but Abby’s right. Back to the drawing board.”

  Calvin took his pen and crossed an X over the imaginative diagram he’d sketched out to demonstrate his plan. “Guess it was kinda dumb, but I was getting desperate.”

  They were sitting around the table in the galley. The tablet was in the center of the table. Scattered on the tabletop were sheets of paper with diagrams and notes scrawled on them. The gloom in the cabin was so thick it could have been cut with a butter knife.

  “Let’s go back to the beginning,” Hawkins said. “We know from our recon that the walls may enclose a camouflage roof. We think that the roof hides a replica of the Maze.”

  Abby said, “That’s the problem, Matt. We’re trying to act on supposition rather than knowledge, and that’s dangerous. We may have to admit that there is no viable way to get in and out.”

  “Damn it, Abby. There’s always a way.” He quickly squelched his flash of anger. “Sorry, Ab, that outburst was uncalled for.”

  “I st
epped into it, Matt. We’ve known each other a long time. Defeatism isn’t in your vocabulary.”

  “Yeah, but realism should be. Let’s go through our choices. Option one is standard SEAL insertion strategy. Come in over a target, rappel down from a chopper, find the target and get out before anyone knows we dropped in.”

  “The late Mr. Bin Laden would testify that isn’t a bad strategy,” she said.

  “Main difference is that the SEAL team’s intel had a pretty good idea of what they were getting into,” Calvin added.

  Hawkins nodded in agreement. “So let’s go over SEAL Option Two. We come in by sea, we get dropped off by a fast boat or sneak close to shore in a mini-sub.”

  “Not applicable here,” Abby said. “It’s a long way from the ocean.”

  “No ocean, but there is water. A river.”

  Abby picked up the salt and pepper shakers and moved them a foot apart. “Okay, the castle is pepper and the river is salt. How do we get from one to the other?”

  He brought up the satellite photo of the castle and its environs on the screen. “Tell me what we’re looking at.”

  “The castle sits on a low hill rising above grassy plains, where it overlooks a winding river. The structure seems to be built on layers of rock, the strata immediately below the castle is grayish-brown in color. How am I doing, Sherlock?”

  “Excellent, Abby. Go on with your analysis, but think about the natural environment for a SEAL op; water.”

  “Aside from the river, the only water in the castle environment is in the form of a moat.” She drew her finger along a faint line on the photo connecting the river and the moat. “What’s this?”

  “I asked myself the same question. I also wondered about the water source for the moat. It was the river, obviously, which feeds the moat with fresh water to counter evaporation.”

  “We could be looking at a sluiceway,” Calvin said.

  “Maybe. Maybe more than that.”

  Hawkins flattened out the scroll next to the computer. Calvin studied the diagram of the maze that had been drawn on the vellum and placed the tip of his forefinger on two parallel lines drawn at right angles to one wall.

  “This projection matches the sluiceway,” he said.

  “Maybe,” Hawkins said. “There’s no moat shown in the original construction. The sluiceway goes directly from the river into the maze. I think this connector was for water supply or drainage for the maze. The castle builders found it and incorporated it into the design as a way to fill the moat with water. And what’s at home in water? SEALs.”

  Abby pursed her lips. “This assumes that the maze shown in the diagram and what’s under the castle are the same. Do you want to base a dangerous mission on that assumption?”

  There was silence in the galley as three pair of eyes examined the network of lines in the diagram. Then Hawkins said, “We’ll need to pull together some SCUBA gear.”

  “Guess that’s a go,” Abby said. “I’ll take what intel we have and lay out a mission plan. If Kalliste is in there, you’ll have to get her out. What’s the extraction strategy?”

  “We’ll bring along a backup air tank. Kalliste is an experienced diver and will know what to do. I’m still wondering about the insertion. Can we make a helicopter drop close to the castle without being detected, Cal?”

  “We’ll be flying low enough to mow the lawn. I’ll land us up-river and we can make our approach from there.”

  “Let’s do a quick inventory of the gear we’ll need.”

  They grabbed pen and paper and were ten minutes into their work when Hawkins’ cell chirped. It was Lily Porter, the producer for Hidden History.

  “Matt, thank God I got you,” Lily said in a breathless voice. “I’ve been trying to reach Kalliste. Have you heard from her?”

  “Not recently. Is there a problem?”

  “A very big problem. I can’t explain over the phone. I have to talk to you in person. Immediately.”

  Hawkins remembered the effusive young woman who’d babbled about her goofy TV series when he’d met her in the hotel lobby.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m up to my eyeballs.”

  “Please, Matt. You don’t understand. I’m going to send you a picture I just received. Please call me back.”

  A second later a photo appeared on the screen of Hawkins’ cell phone. The picture showed Kalliste standing in a dimly lit place. The last time he saw her, in Santorini, she was wearing a T-shirt and shorts, her normal work-a-day uniform. The woman in the picture was dressed as if for a costume ball in a waist-length white shift, and a flounced skirt that went down to her ankles.

  Kalliste was staring directly at the picture taker. She had her arms crossed and determination burned in her dark eyes, but fear lurked there as well. And with good reason. Flanking Kalliste were a pair of monstrous creatures. They resembled gigantic dogs, but they were like no canines Hawkins had ever seen. Their tapering, satanic skulls were vaguely human. The massive jaws hung open in fiendish grins, long sharp fangs only inches from her throat. Either one of the creatures looked capable of snapping Kalliste’s head off in a single bite.

  There was a message under the photo which read:

  Wish you were here, Matt.

  Hawkins called Lily back.

  “Tell me where we can meet,” he said.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  Kalliste sat on her bed, legs crossed in a yoga lotus position, her eyes tightly shut, her thoughts focused like a laser. Lily had removed the pendant from Kalliste’s neck after escorting her back to the apartment. She left the door unlocked. The giant guardians prowling the Maze were enough to keep Kalliste in her room.

  She wasn’t fooled by Lily’s assurances that she would be a “guest” at the ceremony. She knew exactly what her role would be—a sacrifice to the Mother Goddess. She channeled all her energy and intellect on a single goal. Escape.

  She heard the door slide across, opened her eyes and saw the tall priestess who’d been her keeper. The woman was dressed in a long flounced dress with a half-open bodice. She wore a flat, rolled cap on her head. An axe medallion dangled between her breasts. The priestess silently advanced and set a tray on the table, then left Kalliste alone. She stared at the dishes on the tray. Fruit, yogurt, bread, honey and water. Should she eat it or not?

  She knew that bulls about to be sacrificed in Minoan days were fed grain laced with drugs to dull their senses. Kalliste was no thousand-pound animal whose resistance could pose a danger, but it was common sense that when the time came, her captors would revert to old habits. Her last meal would be sumptuous. After being half-starved, she would devour every drugged morsel.

  The serving of a sumptuous prix fixe would be her signal to act. She stared at the tray, hoping she was right. She hadn’t had food for hours and was famished. She had to eat if she were to have the strength to cope with what lay on the other side of her door. She picked up a slice of bread, slathered it with honey, and popped it in her mouth. The outline of a plan was forming in her mind.

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  Calvin wished Hawkins luck and dropped him off at the Plaza de las Flores near the Central Market, the meeting place Lily had suggested. Using the cell phone GPS, he followed a route through block after block of deteriorating neighborhoods.

  He parked in front of a nondescript warehouse on a street strewn with broken glass. The windows were boarded over with plywood. A chain link fence topped by razor wire enclosed the warehouse, but the wide open main gate was falling off its hinges. The walls were covered with fading paint. Even the graffiti artists avoided the place.

  The warehouse was one of a dozen or so similar structures in what must have been a bustling commercial center. There was no number on the building. He’d been advised on the phone that the green light bulb glowing in a wire cage next to the door would tell him he had the right place. He got out of the car, walked through the gate to the warehouse and pushed the doorbell.

  A voice came from a s
quare grate a few inches below the light. “State your business.”

  “I’m the friend of the gentleman in Amsterdam.”

  The man who opened the door was slight of build. He wore a white shirt, loosely knotted tie and dark slacks. His gray hair was disheveled and he had pouches under his eyes. Calvin thought he looked like an overworked accountant chasing a deadline for filing tax returns.

  He stepped aside. “Come right in. My name is Higgins.”

  It wasn’t a hard accent for Calvin to pick up. “Aussie?”

  “Good call. Melbourne. And you’re from southern U.S.?”

  “New Orleans.”

  “Great town. C’mon. Let’s get you fitted out.”

  Their footsteps echoed across the concrete floor. Higgins pushed open a sliding door and led Calvin into a cramped space that functioned as a combined office and living quarters. Higgins told Calvin to take a seat in a folding chair, then plunked himself behind a metal desk and pecked away at the computer keyboard.

  Calvin thought back to the plush surroundings where Broz conducted business.

  “After Amsterdam, I expected an operation this size to be more elaborate.”

  Higgins looked up from his work. “More here than meets the eye. Security cameras are everywhere. Even the street you drove in on is under surveillance. You were checked out before I opened the door. Facial recognition. Voice ID when you called. We’ve got personnel on hand 24/7, but they stay out of sight unless there’s trouble. Some of our guys are pretty scary and we don’t like to frighten legitimate customers.”

  Calvin glanced at the cot in a corner, the refrigerator and the folding table. “Looks like you spend a lot of time here.”

  “Twenty-four seven. Changing shifts is a big deal security-wise. Okay, here’s your order.” He printed a sheet of paper and handed it to Calvin to read.